BK Lounge
by streco
Summary: I went to Burger King and saw the list of famous people applications... and I found Roger's Burger King application from when he was sixteen years old. Includes a knife in his boss's Crystal Light and his outlook on atheists. [Pretty funny XD ONESHOT]
1. BK Lounge

_BK Lounge_

So I went to my local Burger King the other day, and they had this wall of famous people who've applied there. So I'm chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool, waiting for my mom to come back so I can go get some shiat at the closest Subway: EAT FRESH! and then something catches my eye... something scribbled out and looking like it just got attacked by a fucking hamster.

So I stood up and skidoodled over to where the wall was, and I'm checkin' it out. Oh, okay, Nicole Richie... wtf, how is she skinny if she worked at BK? ... Rosie O'Donnell.. Heh, no surprise there... Roger Davis, huh, funny... The Queen of Eng—WAIT, HOLY SHIT, ROGER DAVIS?

So I backtrack and I'm like, FUCK YES, ROGER DAVIS! and I whipped out my notepad and started copying it down.

No, not really... I actually stole it. Heh, right off the wall.

And this is what it said.

— —

_**Thank you for applying to Burger King! If you will please fill out the following questions and submit this in the cardboard box next to where you found this, we will get back to you as soon as we can!**_

**Full Name:** Monkey Fuckina Coconut. (Ha, just kidding, my real name is Roger Fucking Jack(Ass) Lothaine Rodolfo Larson Elizabeth Davis Larson Davis Larson Larson Davis... well, I bet you're wondering where the hell Rodolfo came from—you see, my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was named Rodolfo and his parents were named Puccini and something-or-other, and then my parents, Jonathan Davis and Julie Larson, wanted to name me after him, and then thought of Ralph, which was my real name for a long time, but then they thought of Roger).

Oh, and you're probably wondering why I have so many middle names. Well, my parents were drunk when I was born.

Oh, and you're probably wondering why half my middle names are Davis and Larson. They wanted emphasis on the Larson-Davis action going on... and once again. My mom was drunk, my dad was stoned. Or was it my mom was stoned—I don't know.

**DOB:** Sometime in the fall... I tend to forget. Which is why I hate the fall.

**Phone Number: **970-4301, or at home try 863-6754, or my cellphone at 919-763-0090, or you can e-mail me at darlingalexinewscom dot net, or you can page me at

**Age: **16 (There's been some skepticism on this, but, yes, I am sixteen years of age... he he).

**Current Occupation: **eating, sleeping, and playing guitar. And angsting. A lot. I go to AA sometimes, Angsters Anonymous, or Group for Serious Angst Issues, or Foundation for Underage Children Killing Excitement Daily, AKA, yes, FUCKED.

**Who did you hear about this job from?: **My bestest buddy in the whole wide world, Mark. (His girlfriend dumped him for a girl—isn't that funny? I think it's funny. He wants me to tell you that he's free, if you're a girl, and even if you're a guy, if you're willing to give him action. He's a little desperate and hasn't gotten head for _how _long? He'll even stand twin dongs. So if you're interested in a pale albino freak, please don't hesitate to stalk me home from work one day).

See, we grew up in Scarsdale together, and then I was like, MARK, WE GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE! It's like I'm being tied to the roof of a yellow rental truck being packed in with fertilizer and fuel oil! And my friend Maureen at the time was like ROGER THAT'S BRILLIANT! and promised she'd use it in her performance sometime. It was pretty brilliant.

But me and Mark were just chillaxin', watching A Chorus Line the movie (haha, we were at the song that goes "Tits and ass") and then he was like, you know, speaking of tits and ass, you should go work at Burger King. And I was like, Mark, what does that have to do with the BK Lounge? And he was like if you work there you'll have tits and a huge ass!

**Years of school: **Well, I grew up until I was three, at which point I had a steady job delivering pizzas and a girlfriend who was 23 and expecting our first child, so I dropped out after pre-pre-preschool, but I re-entered when I hit 6 and though everyone thinks I dropped out, I am still in school.

**Special talents?:** I can burp the Constitution, my wiener does tricks, every Sunday I do a choreographed dance with a ceiling fan, my mother was a hamster and my father smelled of elderberries, potatoes, I can sing really good, I'm sexy, I can bang girls at the speed of light, lemon drops, icicles, wingardium leviosa, fuck you, YER MOM!, ladies aanndd underwear.

**Things you hate?: **When people have the same name as me! Oh, and that stupid book Harry Potter and that freak Roger Davies — who the fuck do you think you are? I AM ROGER FUCKING DAVIS, DO NOT MIMIC ME OR I WILL SHOVE AN OYSTER DOWN YOUR THROAT.

Clothes hangers. Don't even fucking ask.

The movie _Closet Bunnies._

Dust bunnies, ew, I hate dust.

Fuck that and fuck you, movies.

**Hobbies: **Well, aside from daily FUCKED meetings, I like to play guitar and sing, and annoy Mark, sing, play guitar, annoy Mark, sing, go to FUCKED meetings, play guitar, annoy Mark, or any variation of that.

**Why should you work here?:** I'm the fucking bomb! And I'm sexy. And I could impregnate all of your female workers in under one week's time.

**Would you be embarrassed to work at Burger King©?:** Nah, I'd just tell the chicks that I work at the BK Lounge, I'm a bouncer at the BK Lounge. "CAN WE GET IN?" they'd ask, and I'd be like, not without coups, baby, not without coups.

I'll never forget this one time I was on drive-through and I was like "Okay that'll be 3.75 ma'am, please drive around," and there's like this long pause, and she's like, "Where do I go?"

Where do you go—you follow the one fucking road you're on to me! Where do you go—okay, ma'am, you're gonna go to the Texaco station, take a right, go five and a half miles southeast, you'll see a guy in a yellow poncho—his name is Hank, he'll take you to the whopper lair, that's where you go.

And you have ten minutes to get there, or we take your food.

I have an older brother Darrell... he used to be the manager where we used to live, I thought he'd hook me up—he was a dick. He would put me on drive through EVERY NIGHT. And people would fucking scream, I'd be like, How can I help you?

"_**WHOPPER!**_

"Sir—"

"_**WHOPPER NO ONION!**_"

Excuse me, I'm fucking bleeding from the ears here, okay? Let's turn the main down a tad, okay Skid Row?

"LARGE FRY MUTHAFUCKA! I CAN'T HEAR YOU BURGER KING! ARE YOU READY TO ROCK BK BROILER?!"

That was bad enough, but when people didn't even talk fucking loud enough—

"Hi ma'am may I please take your order?"

"Umms uhh-umsfa unsha sa extra pickles ands sha wit nono cheese...and extra cheese pickles uh chah. What you want? What you want? Un som—bun seeds—no bun seeds. What do you want? Uh—nononono—yes—no...cheese. Extra pickles. And sha mmsha ah how much? And cheese."

Yeah. DOUBLE U TEE EFF? "Ma'am—I can't—hello?"

"Pickles!—Extra pickles! Cheese bun seeds ice! And pickles on my pickles. And some extra pickly pickles. Cheese pickles."

So I sat there and then I was like... "Okay, are you trying to molest me VIA drive through, what are you saying?"

"Chicken tenders..." and then she whispered and was like, "sweet and sour sauce on my pussy!"

So you see, I am very very experienced with the drive-through...

Put me on drive-through and I'll fucking kill you.

In your sleep.

I'll put a knife in your Crystal Light.

And I know some of you are like, "That is just not possible, MFC. You could not drink a knife. Crystal Light is a clear container, you would see a knife inside and say, 'I'd better not drink that. That is not a delicious beverage, that's a knife.' Even if you got to the point of pouring it, you would hear a knife-like sound hit the glass and you'd say, 'Oh my God, I can't believe I almost drank a knife. I'd better put this over here.'"

**What is your outlook on racism?:** There is a saga to be told here.

I was on a train once, just chilling out, holding onto the rail, thinking about Santa Fe and dancing crossdressers for some fucking odd-ass reason, and then this guy turned and sneezed in my fucking face. So the light was hitting him at this odd angle, and the debris—ugh, it was just disgusting. So I looked at him, and nicely said, "God bless you."

I do not say "bless you", because I am not the Lord. I am not the position to say these things. I must ask the Lord to bless you. I cannot bestow the blessings upon you, for I am not the Lord.

So the guy wipes his nose and sniffs and he looks at me, and he's like, "Uh... I'm an atheist, pal."

OH—did you know that dyslexic atheists do not believe there is a dog?

But I digress.

So the atheist thing—I'm sitting there like WHAT THE HELL? He called me pal, but you know what that fucking sounded like to me? Fuckface. I HEARD him say Fuckface. It was like—I'm an atheist, fuckpalface. THAT'S what it sounded like.

Anyway. I'm like, "Oh... okay. What do you believe, then?" and he's like, "I believe that I will become a part of this Earth when I die. I WILL BE A TREE!"

I let that sink in for a while, and I want you to as well. He wants to be a _tree_. I hope he's in the middle of the wilderness, doing whatever trees do. Like—I know they do a lot of work with breezes... and wouldn't it be fantastic if he was out there enjoying his treeness, through the woods a huge sweaty guy with an axe comes along, sees him, chops him down, SMASH, puts a chain around him, drags him through the mud and muck, throws him in a saw mill, grind him up, then pound him down into paper, and once he's paper... YOU PRINT THE BIBLE ON HIM.

**Other: **Well, I'd just like to say that I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt so sexy it hurts.

Oh, and I'm too sexy for Milan.

And Japan.

And I've been bitten by a shark.

And stung by bees.

_**Thank You, we will call you if you've gotten a job!**_

_**Regards,**_

_**The Burger King® Staff**_

Satisfied, I looked at what I'd written. Sure, I'd run out of room on the Phone Number section, and with all I'd written for everything, I had to staple three forms together, but I was sure I'd get the job. The one thing that threw me for a loop was the racism question... what the _fuck? _But other than that, I thought I'd did great.

But they never called.

— —

This is a story based off the art of Dane Cook, because he's fucking amazing. The whole atheist thing was him, the BK Lounge thing, the "where do I go?" thing. Sharks and bees... Monkey Fucking a Coconut... swallowing a knife... fuck that and fuck you, movies...

I saw "Vicious Circle" for the first time the other day at my cousin's house, almost died. B and E... ahaha. I'm gonna do one. B&E.

I have no idea why I wrote this, but I did XD

Okay, no, I did not really go to BK and find this application, but I did indeed write it. And I have never seen a BK job application, or any application for that matter, so this was just made up.

Special thanks to **JediMasterArieSkywalker**, who totally helped inspire this story... you might not think it, but you did XD

Ignore all future references... AKA, Harry Potter didn't come out... yeah, I know, ignore it.

The "dyslexic atheists do not believe there is a dog" thing comes from my friend Sara and a long line of her friends... I think it's hilarious, and if you understand it, props to you XD

I love Roger... XD

–Steph.


	2. Flamer Mofo, read this

1Hey, **mofo**, fuck you. Are you too much of a pussy to leave an email address so I can respond to you? I gave Dane Cook the credit, and maybe you should actually LOOK for some of my goddamn original stories.

Sorry, guys, gotta find SOME way to deal with these fucking flamers who don't know what they're talking about. :)


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